Pro Bono
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.
Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own occasional pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.
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Chapter 7
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The Steinway piano crashed into the wall, put an impressive dent in the plaster. Breathing hard, Hank leaned against the stopped piano. "After this, I'm never playing piano again. Course I never played the piano before," he wisecracked above the wind whistling through the country club like a car testing wind tunnel.
Sam gave a huff of laughter and strained to push the wayward piano from the wall and back on course. "Burning this thing will be a pleasure, famous Steinway or not." His shoes slipping on the newly installed marble flooring, he bent down lower, pushed harder to budge the piano back and then he and Hank were again pushing it forward, heading to the room that Tucker had disappeared into minutes ago.
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"This is so not what I imagined happening," Tucker murmured to himself as he laid down a layer of salt around the edges of the room. It was startling how drastically changed his notion of bravery and stupidity were since walking into the Country Club doors. The video had, in no way, prepared him to come face to face with a real ghost. And his complaint that being protected all his life sucked…yeah, he didn't think that now. He was more than ready to go back to his "take care: hemophiliac on board" status.
Seeing that his salt line had literally been blown to the four winds, he grumbled, "There goes my salt on the doorway." As he began walking back to the double doors, a strong gust of wind rocked him, from behind. He spun around, terrified that he was about to be alone with a ghost. As the door swung open and water seeped into the room, he stumbled back in retreat, was about to toss the salt, can and all at Horace as he entered barely kept from launching the can when Evan and Dean staggered into the doorway.
Raising a hand to his chest, Tucker breathed, "Seriously, I almost died of a heart attack, right here and now."
"Lot of that going around," Evan greeted. Repositioning his hold on Dean, he propelled them across the room's threshold. Though he was glad to be reunited with any member of their team, disappointment and fear clamored in him at the reality that Sam and Hank were no where in sight. "Tucker, close the door behind us," he ordered, though he knew Horace had a way with doors and water and wind. 'It's the illusion of safety that all men cling to, not the actuality of it,' he found himself thinking, impressed by his own profoundness.
As the teenager complied with Hank's order, Dean asked, "Where's Sam…and Hank?" his unplanned saltwater gargling doing nothing to soothe the burning in his throat or the hoarseness of his voice.
Before Tucker could make a reply, Dean's eyes flew to the opposite door. Geared up to face a threat, he wasn't expecting a piano to roll into view, to crash violently into the doorway. "What? Now the friggin' piano's possessed?" he growled in exasperation, reaching out to grab Tucker, intent on pulling the kid out of the piano's path. But then Sam stepped into view, began trying to wrestle the piano free.
"Guess you found the piano," Dean pointed out the obvious. He found himself leaning more heavily against Evan as some of his adrenaline faded as relief washed over him. Sam was alright, his brother was still in one piece.
Sam's head snapped up and a huge smile flew onto his lips at the sight of his big brother. "Dean!" he called out with such adoration, such relief that it kicked in a knee-jerk response in Dean, namely brought a happy smirk onto Dean's pale, wet features.
"Sammy, you jonesing to be a furniture mover, join a union?" Dean smart mouthed, nodding toward the piano, his lightheartedness emerging now that he and Sam were reunited.
At the sound of Dean's voice, Hank quickly joined Sam in the doorway. At the sight of Evan, a broad smile emerged on his features. Though Evan was drenched, he wasn't hurt, Hank's doctor and brotherly instincts reassured him of that, determined that, Evan wasn't leaning on Dean. No, it was the other way around.
"Sam and I are stuck doing all the work while you two decide to go for a swim. That doesn't seem fair to me," he entered the brotherly verbal give and take, felt ridiculously happy to be back in close proximately with Evan, to know that Dean hadn't died to save him.
Dean gave a bark of laughter. However, it quickly turned into a round of horrifying coughing.
Bitterly wishing that there wasn't a piano blocking his path to his brother, Sam saw, with surprise and gratitude, Evan put his hand on Dean's chest, reposition closer to Dean so he bear his brother's weight better, ensure that he stayed upright. Felt his stomach twist at the younger Lawson's soft taunting tone, "Hey, do we need to go over again about how your lungs need to stay on the inside? I thought I was pretty clear."
Matching surprise and pride surged through Hank. Stood there in awe watching his little, sometimes selfish, immature brother take care of Dean, show a side of himself he rarely did. Was sharp proof that Evan's bedside manner was pretty awesome, that his little brother was every bit the humanitarian that he accused his big brother of being.
Accepting that, though he wasn't the one there supporting Dean, his brother was in capable hands, Sam still had to force himself to draw his focus away from his brother's abused form. "Let's get this thing in the room," he directed. Then he was pulling the piano back with Hank's help. Lining the piano up with the doorway, the two men finally pushed it over the room's threshold. "Close the doors and put down salt," he told Tucker.
Flying to the doors, Tucker pulled both doors shut and was more than generous with the salt. As he completed the line he stepped back, almost expected the ghost to slam against the door. Instead, the wind stopped and an eerie quiet fell upon the confines of the room.
Though Sam was able to cross over to Dean, to take his brother's care into his own hands, he stayed the course, focused on burning Horace out of his happy haunting grounds. "Tucker, give me the salt," he said, taking the can from the boy. He was about to resoak the piano in salt when the can was supernaturally ripped from his grasp.
Horace shimmered into view in front of the piano.
Starkly unarmed, Sam retreated even as Dean broke from Evan's hold and came forward until he and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder. Together the Winchesters confronted the ghost, presented an ineffectual but well meaning protective wall for the civilians at their back.
Behind the Winchesters, Hank pushed Tucker behind him and threw his arm in front of Evan, blocking his brother from even thinking of stepping forward. He knew that the ghost would have to go through the Winchesters to get to him. And he vowed that Horace would have to get past him to lay a spectral hand on his brother or the teenager.
"What are you, the Houdini of ghosts? You're not following the rules!" Dean groused angrily at Horace, his patience gone for this hunt and this particular spook. "Ghosts can't cross salt lines!" He felt Sam's hand wrap around his wrist, as if Sam feared he would step forward, try to go toe to toe with a ghost.
Horace's smile was malicious. "As if you're the type to follow rules." He didn't shimmer forward but purposefully stepped forward, wanted Dean to know he was coming for him.
"Just hold up on the killing me part!" Dean shouted with raging irritation, raising his free hand as if he could halt the ghost.
But Horace did stop, surprised and frustrated that he wasn't provoking a cowardly plea from the man, was instead given an angry demand.
"Dude, seriously, have we met in a past life? Did I spill a drink on your smoking jacket? Steal your horse, Trigger? Wreck your chariot?" Dean bitterly challenged, would have stepped into the ghost's personal space but Sam had released his wrist, yes, but had changed it up for a arm thrown out across his chest, long fingers fisted in his wet jacket lapel.
"You're just like him," Horace spit out. "You're a penniless kid from a class so decidedly below my own that our paths should have never crossed. But they did. His and mine and yours and mine. Everything comes so easy for your type: talent, confidence…women. You succeed without ever trying."
"Hey, I try plenty," Dean gruffly protested the profiling. Feeling Sam shift beside him, he shot a glance to his brother, saw Sam's bug eyed reprimand aimed at him for arguing with a ghost that already wanted to kill him.
Seeing the defiance in Dean's eyes, knowing his brother wasn't going to back down, would antagonize Horace until he provoked the ghost into making some rash move, would take that risk in some stupid hope that he could use the distraction to their advantage, Sam joined the fray. "So what about that other guy you killed, was he below your station too? Or did he scratch your beloved piano?"
"Beloved piano?" Horace echoed, his voice a low acidic cackle. "I hate the thing, more than I hate being trapped here."
"What?" Dean and Sam said in unified confusion.
Horace stepped back, seemed to enjoy that he had an audience. He took his time unfolding his tale. "I wasn't a superstitious man but it didn't take long for me to realize it was cursed." Horace shook his head, the memories bittersweet as they came to him. "I thought it was my ticket into show business, that if I donated it to the Country Club and played it every weekend, some talent agent in from New York City would hear me, sign me up for a contract. That I would finally have earned something in life instead of just having to buy it."
As the ghost paused in his story, Evan couldn't help prompting, "Soooo, I'm guessing that didn't happen, what with you being an old ghost haunting a building that's not been open in more years than I've been alive." He 'omphed' as Hank's elbow jabbed into his gut, ordering him, as only a loving brother could, to shut up.
Horace eyes skimmed to Evan. "You don't belong here either…and you know it," he condemned.
Fearing that Horace's maliciousness would be redirected from him to Evan, Dean scoffed, "This from the guy who has overstayed his welcome by forty eight years." And that did the trick, had Horace's glare resettling upon him.
Wanting to deflect Horace malevolence, Sam asked, forced contrived interest into his tone, "But when the talent agents came, it wasn't you they scouted." His perceptiveness proved on the money when Horace snorted in hatred.
"No, they liked the kid that was the janitor, came in and cleaned the floors on Sunday nights. One of my friends thought it would be great to sabotage one of the greatest weekend parties of the year by telling the kid they wanted him to play the piano on Saturday night. He didn't hesitate to take up the dare, strode up there like he owned the world, sat down and played for the elite of the elite." Horace turned around, ran his hand along the piano. "People stopped dancing, stopped talking, stopped drinking…to listen to him play."
"So he got the contract and you didn't. That's called life, not a curse, buddy," Dean goaded, couldn't believe it had taken such a little disappointment in life to create a homicidal ghost.
"Yeah, if that was the end of it." Again facing his audience, Horace patted the piano. "This thing got me my wife…and lost her for me. She thought I was going to make it big, tour with a famous band. Money wasn't enough for her, though she burned through my fortune quicker than a California forest fire. She left me high and dry, broke. Only thing of value I had left was this cursed piece of crap. I wanted to sell the thing, get some cash…But no, the Club had determined it had historic value, had included it in their historic register for the building. I owned the lousy thing but couldn't move it from the club!"
"And you were doing, I don't know, grand piano theft when the hurricane hit?" Dean speculated.
"I didn't want to steal it, I wanted it destroyed!" Horace sputtered, angry that Dean wasn't following the story close enough to see where it was leading. "I thought I would finally get money out of the thing through the insurance policy. I came here to make sure it got damaged. I was moving it into the main ballroom when the hurricane hit. Thing fell on me, trapped me. I died under it and I've been tied to it ever since."
Dean was surprised to find himself actually sympathizing with Horace. "Wow that…sucks, man. You should have gone with a smaller instrument, fiddle, trumpet…"
Afraid Dean would talk himself right back onto Horace's hit list, Sam interrupted, "We can help you."
"Help me?" Horace sneered. "Help me how?"
"Get free of the curse, to leave here," Sam stated, hoped it was enough, that Horace didn't asked him where he would go if he left this world.
"I've been trying to do that for over forty years!"
"Well…we, my brother and I, know a ritual." Sam gestured to Dean and to himself, wanted Horace to know that, if he hurt Dean, there would be no deal, wanted to give the impression that Dean was needed for the ritual.
"I'll be free?" Wonder began to creep into Horace tone, his eyes flickered between the Winchesters.
"Yes," Sam and Dean vowed together.
"Do it," Horace ordered, stood stock still as if he thought it would be an instantaneous transformation.
Hating to incur Horace's wrath again, Sam sheepishly pointed out, "We need stuff…from our car. I can go get them, be back in a fifteen minutes…"
"The boy, Marshall Bryant's great grandson, I'll let him leave to get the things you need," Horace countered, his look coming to rest on Tucker.
"Um…yeah, ok," Tucker stammered, starting to move forward.
Hank quickly gripped Tucker's arm, stopped him. Had no intentions of letting the boy fall into the ghost's hands.
"You hurt the kid and I'll make sure you rot in here forever," Dean threatened, trusted Horace about as far as he could toss the Impala.
"The boy will be safe, I promise."
"Yeah, like your promises are worth anything," Dean grumbled under his breath as he turned around, faced Tucker's pale, apprehensive countenance. He waved the teenager forward and Hank let him come. Putting a hand on Tucker's shoulder, he began patiently listing the items they would need from the Impala's trunk, gave directions to where they had left the car. When he heard Sam begin to explain the ritual to Horace, when Sam gave him the distraction he needed, he leaned in close to the teenager, whispered in Tucker's ear. "You don't have to come back in, Tucker. You can call a friend of ours at 555-…"
But Tucker shook his head, quietly but firmly vowed, "No. I'm not letting you guys stuck in here with him."
"Tucker I won't be disappointed..." Dean gently reassured.
"But I would be, in myself. Please let me do this Dean. Please. I can do it," Tucker entreated, wanted to help Dean and others, wanted Dean to believe in him, to have faith in him.
Dean's grin was all the answer Tucker needed. Then the Impala keys were pressed into his hand and Dean's hand closed around his.
Giving Tucker's hand a squeeze, Dean released his grip and nodded toward the door that led to the foyer. He prayed that Horace honored his promise, let the boy go and return without harm.
Skirting by Horace, Tucker walked for the door. Tentatively reaching out, he found that the door handle turned, swung open easily, without resistance. Looking over his shoulder at the men that he was leaving behind, he gathered his courage and walked through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind him. He forced himself to not look back, instead he forged ahead, fully expected the front door to remain locked but it too opened and he inhaled a hurried breath of fresh air, hadn't realized how stale the air inside had been, how cramped it had felt.
Trotting down the stairs, he headed for his car, was already calculating how long it would take to drive to Dean's black classic car. 'Well Dad's love for Ferraris is finally going to pay off," he thought, knew that the Italian sports car would ensure he got there and back again in record time because he had no plans whatsoever of staying within the speed limit.
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The alive occupants of the room huddled against the back wall of the room.
Dean shook his head, a sardonic smirk turning up his lips. "A cursed piano? I so didn't see that one coming. Guess that's why Horace could get by the salt. He's tied to the piano. Can go where it goes."
Sam gave a grunt of annoyance. "Yeah, so basically we salted him IN the room with us. Not our greatest move."
"Excuse me but I'm new to this whole supernatural theme we have going on tonight. So burning the piano won't break the curse and free Horace?" Evan questioned, eyes flickering between the two experts on ghosts and apparently on cursed musical instruments.
Pulling his look from his brother, Sam faced Hank. "No. Cursed objects are different than an item that a ghost is simply latching onto. A curse has a mandate to follow, will follow it until its power is broken."
"Which you're going to do with stuff you have just chucked in the trunk of your car?" Evan interjected, doubt coloring his words.
"You'ld be surprised what we have in our trunk," Dean said under his breath, let Sam give the sanitized reply.
Shrugging, Sam nonchalantly rationalized, "Its tools of our job. As common to us as the stuff Hank carries in his black medical bag."
"Ah, yeah, no. I don't think I have anything nearly as ….can I say creepy in my bag as you guys must have in your trunk," Hank denied, not with censorship but a smirk.
"One man's creepy…" Dean returned with a shrug, didn't bother to finish the statement, knew by Hank's soft laugh that he didn't have to. And he was glad of that because the casual gesture, it hurt, had stolen the breath right out of him.
Tightening the grip he had maintained on his brother's arm since he had helped Dean shuffle to the back of the room, Sam worriedly inquired, "Dean?" because he was an expert at reading his brother, had had to be since the jerk was too stubborn to mention when he was in pain, lots of pain.
"I'm fine," Dean lied, didn't bat an eyelash under Sam's worried scrutiny.
"Yeah, sure you are. Surgery one day, taking on a hurricane the next, yeah you're just great," Sam darkly countered with a mocking laugh.
"Sam I…" Dean began, ready to say what he needed to in order to wipe the fear from Sam's eyes.
"I thought you were dead," Sam bluntly announced, his eyes broadcasting how painful that belief had been for him.
Sam's pain, it ripped the smart aleck comeback right out of Dean. Giving Sam's worry for him the respect it deserved, he solemnly confessed, "I almost was." Nearly winced himself when Sam jerked as if the truth was a physical blow he had delivered. "I would be if Evan hadn't done his Aqua Man impersonation and pulled me out of the drink."
Sam, Dean and Hank's eyes all swung to Evan.
Suddenly finding himself the center of attention, Evan joked, "I wouldn't call it Aqua Man…more like Superman because he can hold his breath for a really long time."
"Thank you," Sam earnestly offered to Evan, knew that Evan couldn't know what he had done, the pain he had spared him. But as he saw Hank reach out and give his little brother's shoulder a proud squeeze, saw Evan basking in his brother's affection, he realized Evan knew exactly how he felt about Dean, knew it because he felt the same depth of love for Hank.
"Please tell me we're not going to hug," Dean grumbled, "turn this into some counseling session."
"Yeah! How about 'big brothers and the little brothers that love them'. We can sell motivational tapes," Evan readily supplied, prized the glare it earned from Hank and Dean and goofy smile of agreement from Sam.
Turning to Sam, Dean warned, "You do realize we owe the Chief Financial Officer a debt. You know, the guy who bills people. He's not the guy who does pro bono work."
"I promised Hank I would give you the friends and family rate for medical services. Water retrieval procedures, however, are a whole different price bracket," Evan warned with a wide smile.
Horace's voice startled them. It was like the elephant in the room, that they had actually managed to forget about, had unexpectedly learned to talk. "I don't understand why you are here, any of you." Horace purposefully looked to Dean, "I did my best to kill you and you still came back, knowing what I had in store for you. Why?"
"Because you were killing people. You had to be stopped," Dean stated matter-of-factly.
"At the risk of your own life?" Horace pressed, head tilted, unfamiliar with such bravery, such …lunacy.
Dean almost shrugged, caught himself in time, used his words instead. "Comes with the job."
Turning his haunted gaze on Hank and Evan, Horace questioned, "And you two, were you here to stop me too?"
"NO!" Evan sputtered, didn't want there to be any confusion about who the ghost hunters were in the room.
"We only came because they came," Hank provided, jerking his head toward the Winchesters. "I actually thought I was going to be the hero in this story, rush in.." he adopted his announcer for a super hero comic tone, "save my patient from infection and a serial killer!" Then remembering Horace perchance for murder, he raised his hand in apology, stammered, "Not that serial killers are all bad people…were bad people, weren't just…misunderstood in their formal lives."
"The boy is back," Horace informed briskly, his dark glare on Hank before it slid to the room door which he swung open. Tucker hurried in, his hands loaded down with the supplies that Dean had required.
Anticipating Dean's refusal to stay relegated to the bleachers with the civilians, Sam helped Dean match his step forward. But he down right refused to relinquish his hold on his brother until he was certain Dean was steady on his feet. He was starting to doubt that that certainty would happen when a hand wrapped around Dean's other arm. Sending a grateful look to Hank, he released Dean with only a pang of anxiousness. Turning to Tucker, he grabbed some of the supplies from the dark haired boy's grasp, sank down onto his knees and began setting up the items for the ritual.
Demoted to observer, Dean stood behind Sam, watched how proficiently his little brother put the herbs together, situated the bowl, drew the markings on the floor. It caused a stab of sorrow to flicker in him, that recognition that Sam didn't need his help very much anymore.
Looking over his shoulder, Sam met Dean's eyes, posed, "Is it a pentagon or a five pointed star that goes in the circle?"
And just like that, Dean knew that Sam still needed his help. But more than that, Sam still wanted his help. Even after he had cost their Dad his life, had kept their Dad's last words from him, had vowed to kill him if he went evil. The kind of loyalty, the kind of trust Sam was offering to him, Dean didn't know what to do with it, how to accept such a valuable and so undeserved gift.
At Dean's silence, at the way his brother swallowed hard, looked…vulnerable, Sam nearly came to his feet, reached his hand out and grasped Dean's wrist. "Dean what's wrong? You alright?" his voice extraordinarily soft, his eyes fixed on his brother's, ready to do whatever Dean asked of him, needed of him.
Shaking himself from his haze, Dean gave a shadow of a smile. "Five point star. Thought you had Dad's journal memorized, college boy." But Sam didn't smile, kept watching him, waiting, expecting, Dean didn't know what. "You need help drawing the star, Sam? You start with an upside down V…"
"I'm the artist in the family, remember?" Sam taunted, seeing that light returning to his brother's eyes, he released his grip on Dean and turned back to the ritual.
"Says who?" Dean challenged.
"You did when we were going after Hookman."
"Dude, that was only because I refused to paint on another guy's body, team spirit or not," Dean chuckled, watched in silent admiration as Sam drew the symbols with ease. Gauging that Sam was almost done, he looked up to Horace. "Once we do this, the curse will be broken and you can move on."
"Is it my choice, to move on or to stay?" Horace asked, a tinge of fear evident in his tone.
Dean fell silent, didn't know the answer, didn't know the answer Horace wanted to hear. "You won't be bound to the piano anymore, the curse will be lifted. I guess what happens to you after that is your choice."
"Ready," Sam declared. Climbing to his feet, he reclaimed his spot beside his brother. Sharing a worried but resigned look with Dean, he pulled out his lighter. Sparking a flame to life, he tossed the lighter into the bowl of herbs.
There was a flash and then the flame leapt a few inches in the air, burned with a bright orange intensity. It sizzled into a black plume of smoke before the flame flashed out of existence.
Sam and Dean raised their attention from the bowl to Horace. Their uneasiness for what came next, what Horace would choose to do with his new found freedom flowed between them.
For a few moments, Horace stood stock still. And then he began to laugh, the sound changing the longer it went on, converting from an old man's gruff laugh to a young man's joyous sound of mirth. Unexpectedly, Horace's features changed too, became youthful again, became tangible, human. When he raised his arms to view his hands, Sam and Dean both moved backwards, not trusting the benevolence of the former ghost.
"You did it!" the twenty-five year old Horace exclaimed, a light shining in his eyes as his gaze slid to the ghost hunters. "I'm free." Turning, he reached out, stroked his fingers along the keys of the piano. A trail of flames followed in his fingers wake. And then the piano burst into flames
"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed, raising his arm to block the heat wave that slammed into him, found himself yanked backwards by not only Sam's grip but Hank's too. "Pyromaniac much?"
Horace turned to them and his smile? It was the kind that gave Sam the willies.
"You're free. You can go now, find rest," Sam encouraged even as he doubted that rest would be on Horace's agenda.
"Go?" the youthful Horace chuckled. "Why would I want to go now? I'm young, I'm can go anywhere I want, I have powers I never dreamed of."
Sam's eyes slid to Dean's, and he could see sharp comprehension in his brother's gaze: things were going south really fast, were only going to get worse. And it was there, in that one look, in that shared second, a oneness in spirit. A silent communication thrummed through them, unfaded by the years Sam had been away at Stanford. The year and half since they had been reunited had only strengthened it, forged under fire a bond that outmatched any power Horace was imbued with.
Sensing the danger vibrating through Dean, the strength that the brothers collectively emanated, Hank released his grip on Dean, stepped back. Giving a quick look over his shoulder, he saw that Tucker and Evan were already against the wall. He gladly retreated back another three steps, put more distance between himself and the Winchesters.
Tilting his head at Sam, Dean gave a cocky smile, bounced his eyebrows. Then, in synch the brothers moved, each sent a kick into Horace's corporeal body.
Under the double blows, Horace tumbled backwards into the flaming piano. It was as if a black hole engulfed him. One minute he was there, starting to scream and then the next, he was gone, a fine dust of ash floating to the air.
The piano, however, remained, continued to burn, to crumble in on itself, to be reduced to ash. It would never again resonant with a musical chord. Its curse would never intertwine another soul to its fate.
Though arrogance had given strength to curse and ghost alike, it was loyalty that had proven itself the stronger, had bested them both.
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TBC
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Thanks for reading and for all the kind words of encouraging. Well since our villain is gone, I think one more chapter will wrap this crossover story up!
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.